Love Doth Not Forget
by AsThingsSpokenTransferToPaper
Summary: Draco and Hermione awake to find themselves in the farmhouse of a middleaged witch,devoid of any memory other than that of their names and magical abilities. Will they find love or will their memories spell disaster?
1. Green Light Strikes Us Down

_ A flash of green, and a shout of words. A blonde boy fell as a jet of red light hit him. A screaming girl tried to run at the man who had fired the spell, but she was held back by the arms of a crying boy with ginger-colored hair._

Hermione awoke in a bed that she did not remember lying down in. She looked around the room, which the bed was located in, and decided that it was a bedroom. The pretty girl—for she was though she could not exactly be called pretty according to normal standards. She had quite bushy, curly brown hair that hung loosely about her face. Brown eyes that could transform themselves into the most will-breaking puppy dog stare if need be, and a feminine—yet lacking in shape—willowy figure. Still, she had an air about her that made her light a room as no blonde woman could. She sat up and looked about the place that she found herself mysteriously located. The room had a soft, motherly tone about it; there were yellow daisy-patterned bedclothes and wallpaper, and the walls had a coat of fresh, rather than stiff, white paint on them. Nevertheless, although the room was quite pretty, it bothered Hermione that she did not know who the room belonged to, or if she even, _knew_ the person to whom it belonged. Deciding that it would be a good idea to roam the house a bit—she may receive some notion of where she was—as she had a dire need to relieve herself, Hermione began to climb out of the bed. She sat up, stretched, and was just about to place her right foot onto the plush, white carpet, when she had a startling revelation—she couldn't remember _anything._

She knew her first name of course, and she remembered being a witch, but aside from that, she realized that she knew nothing about herself—or her past. Just as she was about to go into a panic, a short, matronly sort-of woman popped her head through the door. Seeing that Hermione was awake, she continued into the room. She was a pretty woman—in her own way, that is. She looked to be in her mid-thirties; her hair was beginning to gray slightly at the temples. She was of average height, hovering near five-foot seven, and had a pleasantly plump figure. She looked the part of fierce mother who would do anything for her children. However, she also had an air about her that made a body know that, if you were starving on the roadside, she would take you into her home—even if you were here gravest foe. She bustled toward Hermione, tidying the room as she walked, and humming to herself. She stopped at the bedside, looked down on the young girl, and smiled. "Well now," the kindly woman began, I was beginning to worry that you weren't going to wake at all; you've been sleeping for nearly two days!"

There was a moment of silence._ I suppose she expects me to say something. But what? _Hermione thought to herself. She decided discovering her location would be the best way to go at this point. "Um, thank you for taking me into your home and allowing me to sleep here, and, not to sound rude but, where am I? Who are you?" the quite confused witch asked her benefactor.

"Oh! Where _are_ my manners! My name is Galena, Galena Misokovitch. I found you and the young man in my field nearby. I was outside checking to see if any early apples had come in. You see, my husband died a couple of years ago, and I have to do everything that the hired men do not. There weren't any apples, so I turned around, and there he was, laying there to the left of my tree. I almost didn't see him for the grass, but his hair contrasted to it," the woman explained. Taking a breath, she went on, you were laying about ten feet from him, tears staining your face. I felt so bad for you both; so I decided to put the both of you up in here."

"Boy? What boy?" Hermione asked.

"I suppose she must mean me," Hermione gasped; standing before her was one of the most attractive boys she had ever seen. He was tall, muscular, but not too much so. He looked to be around the age of seventeen—she couldn't be sure, though. He had silver-blond hair that fell just slightly into his eyes and caught hers--just as Galena had stated. Although these things were all striking in and of themselves, his eyes were by far the most piercing of all the features that he owned. They were of a greenish-silvery hue, swirling in all of their majesty. The boy grinned when he caught her staring at him. Hermione quickly blushed, lowering her eyes.

Glancing between the two, a knowing look in her eyes, Galena broke the awkward silence. "Yes, this is the boy. Do you two not know each other?" she asked in a confused tone as she sat down on the bed nest to Hermione.

"No, I, I've never seen him before," replied Hermione.

"Nor I, her," the boy confirmed.

"Well, that I _is _odd. You are both magical, are you not?" Galena questioned; her eyes clearly showing that she was trying to piece everything in this mystery together.

Hermione and the boy exchanged looks; should they admit that to her? They seemed to decide with their eyes that they should, but Hermione was the one to speak. "Yes, but, are you a witch?" she questioned the woman apprehensively.

"Of course I am dear! How else would I possibly guess that the two of you are?" Galena reasoned.

Reddening, the two teenagers realized what a foolish question they had asked.

"Well," the boy began, but drifted off.

"Well, I suppose I'll go whip up some breakfast for the both of you while you become reacquainted," their matron decided. She stood up of the bed, straightened her apron with her slightly pudgy hands, smiled, and walked out of the room.

"I'm Draco," the boy began confidently, holding out his long, thin—but not sickeningly so—hand for her to shake.

"Hermione," the young witch replied in a somewhat faltering voice, shaking his hand as she did so. Draco sat down next to her on the bed. Hermione's ears went red as she cleared her throat to cover the silence. She was worried that neither of them would say anything, and then one of those awkward silences would happen. Draco took care of that, though.

"How do you think we're supposed to know each other?" he asked, the silver in his eyes swirling about.

"I, I don't know," Hermione answered, eyes downcast and blushing.

_ How can I make her feel at ease? _Draco wondered, as he began to pace the area with normal, yet strong strides. He had a striking gait, which, despite his efforts, did not make Hermione feel more at ease. Rather, she felt flushed, shy, and inadequate in the area of flirting. Upon seeing her distraught face, he chuckled.

"What's so funny!" the girl asked indignantly; Hermione was not a girl who appreciated feeling as though she were the butt of a joke—especially when it was this boy laughing at her.

"Nothing," Draco managed to say between chuckles, "it's just, why are you so uncomfortable around me? You have no reason to be."

"I'm not uncomfortable around you!" Hermione declared, even as she blushed further still, "I just don't see what there is to talk about! We don't even know each other, we have no past experiences to speak of, or present circumstances that are interesting enough to discuss!" she finished in a flurry, pulling her curly brown hair back into a loose ponytail.

Draco chuckled softly, looking at the girl with eyebrows raised. "You don't find being found in a field of a complete stranger—for unexplainable reasons—taken into her home, and waking up to find that you and a boy—apparently a former acquaintance—barely remember who you are, interesting?"

Hermione looked down sheepishly, the blush creeping around her entire face and neck now, then back up at Draco, her brown eyes glimmering with unshed tears. The boy was quite taken aback; what he said had been in jest. Immediately feeling sorry for the attractive—slightly, that is—girl, he made to sit himself down on the bed. Receiving no objection from Hermione, he went through with it, adjusting his body as close to her as he dared. "How then, if neither of use remember I _anything_ —and Galena obviously doesn't even know I _who _we are, let alone our past—how are I _we _supposed to figure out what to do?" whispered Hermione.

"I don't know," Draco replied in the same, hushed, tone, taking her soft, white hand in his rough one, "I don't know, but we'll figure out something—together."


	2. Just As He Said They Would

_ What's so different about him? _Hermione thought to herself, as she was sitting in the room which had been assigned as hers, one fine, Spring afternoon. She stood up off of the bed and walked over to the mirror. She looked at her reflection, which was slightly distorted as there was a splash of sunshine streaming in through the window and causing a glare on the glass. Resuming her thoughts on Draco, she decided that maybe he wasn't so different at all, "Since I don't know what other boys are like, perhaps they're all like him. Maybe he's just acting like every other boy that I used to know," she said to herself, "But maybe I'm wrong. What if..., she trailed off, pondering the query which she had set before herself. "No. I'm right; I must be." Although this may seem quite arrogant and cocky, during her stay at the farmhouse, she had realized the main quality that was instilled into her being: stubbornness. When she decided she was right or wrong about something, she maintained that position, and it was a rather arduous task to convince her otherwise. This had become plain to Draco especially, in the past few weeks, and they fought often. However, in spite of this, there was something between them. Something the two seemed to subconsciously know shouldn't be there. This feeling subconsciously caused them to bicker over circumstances that were so petty, a two-year old would have dismissed them.

Deciding that her hair could wait until later, she crossed the room and lay down upon her bed; at this point, she now wanted to let her mind wander over the events of the past six weeks. They had been difficult, no doubt about that. She and Draco had spent the majority of them trying to remember the past through various tactics that Galena had suggested. They had tried everything from simply focusing on the thought of being enlightened to their memories, to being put into trances that we're supposed to help along this sort of thing. However, in spite of being extremely fatiguing, nothing worked.

A few days previous, Galena had taken the young witch and wizard shopping; one set of robes simply wouldn't do, she had decided. So the three of them had gone to a Muggle shopping center. Hermione smirked at the memory; the event had obviously not been in Draco's taste of usual activities. The fact that the girls had deemed him the "official bag carrier" hadn't added to his pleasure by any stretch of the imagination. Surprisingly, in spite of his protest at taking the trip in the first place: Draco had good taste, a fact that she discovered whilst he did his own shopping. When she mentioned this, instead of graciously accepting the compliment, Draco retorted with an arrogant "Of course I do," and a haughty look. Hermione sighed: he was so perplexing; one moment he was humble, charming, and kind, the next, arrogant, cold, and, seemingly, unfeeling. Yet, in some odd way, the latter of his alter egos almost attracted her on a higher level.

The change _was_ quite odd, though; the first few weeks, Draco has been nothing but kind. However, recently he had started to act largely cocky, and though the attitude switch was short-lived, it still puzzled her. Pushing thoughts of him from her mind, she took a quick glance at her reflection across the room. What she saw startled her: in the short time that she had been resting, her hair had turned into some sort of human monstrosity! Standing up from her bed, Hermione resigned herself to the tedious task of combing her hair and walked over to her mirror.

As she began to brush her unruly hair, Hermione heard a soft, familiar, and light knock upon the door. Sighing, she turned toward it; if she answered him, there was a great possibility that they would enter another fray. Dismissing this, she called to him, "Come in, Draco." The blonde-haired boy entered, flipping his head to brush the few strands of his hair that fell into his eyes back from his face. Hermione's heart skipped a beat as he did so. "Yes?" she asked him, wondering as she said this, why her stomach felt so fluttery. He cleared his throat.

"Galena said that she wants us to work on 'remembering'," he stated, an odd look sweeping across his features. Sadness engulfing her with the all-to-familiar remembrance of her lack of memories, Hermione turned back to the mirror and continued to brush her hair. A moment of silence passed before she answered him in a clipped and biting tone.

"I don't care. I'm tired of 'working' and making absolutely no progress. It's useless," she informed him, tears threatening to make her choke as she slid down against the wall to sit on the floor. Drawing her knees to her chest, she turned her brown eyes, filled with tears, toward to boy who created such an array of emotions inside of her.

However, rather than comforting her as she expected, Draco grew livid. Taking quick, angry strides toward her, Draco stopped just in front of her body. "You're tired of working? Well you know what I'm tried of? Your shitty attitude! All that you ever do is complain about how tired you are! Yeah, maybe we haven't made any progress yet, but do you honestly think that we will if we just sit here? Of course not, because that's not how the world works, Hermione. You have to work for what you get. Perhaps there's something from your past that's made you feel as though everything can just be handed to you on a silver plate, BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN HERE! I'm not going to allow you to sit on your ass while I do all the damn work. And if I find out what the past is without your help, then you better damn well know that I won't help you discover yours!" his chest heaving, hair and clothes askew, he paused for breath as he starred at the now standing, and equally upset-looking Hermione.

"My attitude? What about yours, Mister I am the _god_ of the universe! If anyone acts like everything should just be given to them, it's you! You hate working just as much as I do, and you know it! So don't give me this damn act!" she stormed, every fiber of her being pulsing with adrenaline.

"Of course I hate working, who wouldn't? The point _my dear_, is that I still plow through it. As for acting arrogant, why shouldn't I? For all we know, I may be a high-standing wizard in our society, and you could very well be a lowly servant of some sort!" the boy retorted with a shocking arrogance that Hermione had never seen before in even his worst episodes. Hurt and outraged, she did something that neither one of them would have imagined possible: pulling her right arm back, then quickly throwing it forward, she slapped Draco with all of the strength that she could muster. Both teenagers stood there momentarily, taking in everything that had just happened.

Hermione stood in front of Draco, breathing heavily. _Did I just hit him?_ She thought to herself. Although she was angry and appalled at the horrific things that he had said to her, she didn't think that her actions would be that extreme. Looking up into his face, she noticed the pink, hand-shaped mark which was slowly forming upon the left side of his face. Tears forming quickly in her eyes, she fled the room--at least, she tried. However, in spite of what she had just done to him, Draco reached out and grabbed her hand. "Hermione, don't. It's fine, I shouldn't have said that, I deserved it," he said, a pleading look in his eyes. Rather than make her stay, though, his kind words and sudden understanding attitude simply caused the girl to start weeping. Jerking out of his grasp, she finished the action that she had intended; to run as far away from the farm-house as her legs would carry her.

In quick reaction to her absence, Draco ran down the stairs two at a time, trying his best to reach her. He stopped at the kitchen doorway, calling to her as the back porch door slammed closed in her wake. "Hemione! I'm not mad! Come back before we have to explain what happened to Galena!" his words were in vain, however, and the girl didn't return. Shoulders slumped, he started back toward the stairs that would lead him to the second floor and a hot shower.

What both of her charges had failed to notice when they crossed the threshold of her kitchen, though, was Galena standing in the left-hand corner next to the stove, arms crossed and worry lines etched into her forehead. _Yes, they're acting just as Albus said they would_ she thought, lips pursed as she opened the drawer next to her in search of a quill and parchment.


	3. The Trade

A/N: The point of views will change fluidly from this point forward. They should be quite self-explanatory, but it may take a few sentences into the person's mind to realize who is speaking. However, as you become more comfortable with my writing style, the characters, and the story, this will change and you will probably recognize the speaker immediately.

Lastly, I want reviews! I won't update until I have at least 10 reviews. It's what keeps me going and I want to hear what ya'll think, any ideas you have, what's confusing or disturbing, and what you think is better left out, etc.

Love,

Ashlee

"I don't particularly _care_ if you don't want to live in the same dorm, Malfoy! Move out, then!" The livid Head Girl yelled at the equally upset, and similarly titled, boy standing across from her.

"You're incorrectly assuming that I would leave and allow you to benefit from the grandeur of our current living circumstances," he replied.

Shaking his head, Albus turned from the fire without bothering to listen to the entirety of the conversation. " So you see, there really is no alternative." The wise Headmaster stated as he took the seat before the small assembly of witches and wizards in front of him. " Although they have the potential to become two of our most valuable assets, this will only be possible if the are able to see through their prejudice."

"The other students? Their parents? What are we to submit to them as an excuse for their absence?" Questioned Minerva, her lips pursed into a tight, thin line.

"When the group next battles against Voldemort--for we know its is only a matter of time--we simply place the pair in such a position that would not make it unlikely for them crucially injured, and make sure that they do not actually come to harm. Replicas of their bodies will then be placed in the hospital wing until our plan is completer. At that time we will switch them and they will awaken, seemingly from a coma," Mad-Eye spoke up.

"Precisely. During the duration of their isolated stay together, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy will be staying with our very own, Miss Galena Misokovitch." Dumbledore gestured toward a small witch before continuing. "In a different country, of course. They will live in a small French village, where Galena will presumably be a farming widow;" he finished, looking content.

"It seems you've thought of everything, Albus." Acknowledged a senior member of the Order as a general murmur of agreement went throughout the group.

With that, the plan to create allies from bitter most enemies was officiated and begun The gathered Order looked toward the fire to see the bright seventh year leave the Head Dorm in a huff, tears of embarrassment, fury, and frustration, filling her eyes. The argument was at n impasse--for now.

Severus Snape placed his unusually long, chalky index fingers to his temples; the incessant arguments between Granger and Malfoy were grating his nerves and trying his patience, Under orders from Dumbledore, he had assigned them to be lab partners for the duration of the term. Although it was merely their second day together, the pair had successfully managed to discover sixty-two points on which to disagree--all within the subject of unicorn blood. "Oh, god, I need a better hobby," he murmured to himself as he rose from his seat.

"Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger! Would you please confine your fighting over menial issues to _your_ living quarters!" A snicker ran throughout the classroom. Hermione glared at Draco and snatched the vial of Mandrake juice from his hands. Shaking his head, Severus returned to his desk.

"I have a proposition for you," His voice whispered in my ear; too silken bode any good. I turned toward him fractionally, grating my teeth as I diced dragon scales.

"And it is?" I questioned, trying to muster a civil tone from somewhere in the deep recesses of my soul.

"Seeing as we don't agree on well, anything, perhaps we could 'divide' the work."

I _refuse _to do your work for you, Malfoy." A smirk formed on his lips as his eyebrow arched ever so slightly.

"You think I would allow you to be in charged of the entirety of my grade?" He scoffed. I reddened.

"Well, I--"

"What I _meant_ was that you and I might trade of on whom is in control of concocting the potions on lab days." He leaned back in his seat, seeming pleased with himself.

"Fine," I replied, stunned at his civility.

"Good. Of course, you'll be doing the potion today, seeing as you've already begun."

I stared at him in shock and anger--as strongly internal as it was geared in his direction. Of course he would instate his 'plan' he day that we were making what was our most difficult potion up to date. Realizing that I had seen through his pretenses, his smirk became even more pronounced.

_To think that for two seconds I thought that he had the potential to be--not the actual qualities of, but--a decent human being! _I thought to myself lividly. "Malfoy," I threatened, menace creeping into my tone with more vividty as each syllable passed through my lips.

"Granger," he replied, his tone thick with amusement. Deciding that shock and awe would be the best way to deal with this, I quickly stood up from my seat. A tiny smile twitched on the edges of my lips, but worry lines etched themselves into my forehead nonetheless. Although I could tell that I was having the desired effect on Malfoy--a quick glance revealed his skin to be whiter than usual, his hands clenched into tight fists--I was still worried. Member of the Order and Spy for Dumbledore, or not, Snape was a Slytherin--and he made no secret of his dislike for me. As I watched his eyebrows arch, no doubt wondering, as I was beginning to myself, why on earth I was approaching his desk, all traces of my front faded.

"P--Professor Snape?" Damn stuttering.

"Miss Granger." Honestly, could no one answer my questions with something other than my name?

"It's nothing, sir. Granger--he said even my last name with extremely evident difficulty--was having a bit of trouble with part of the assignment, but I've solved it," he said while turning to me with a glare that I assumed was supposed to communicate that I should agree and drop the issue.

Instead it gave me renewed determination.

"Actually, Professor, my problem does not lie within the potion itself; but the wizard I'm working on it with--or rather, _not_ working on it with," I explained, growing more confident as I went on.

He gestured for me to continue, resting his chin upon steepled fingers. Did I imagine the amused look in his eyes? "You see Malfoy," I glanced over at my lab partner to see his face growing more panicked by the second; making it extremely apparent that he knew quite well how unfair his deal was. "Well, he devised a system of 'sharing' our workload and trading potion off every other lab day, so that our disagreements would no longer interfere with out work."

"It seems to be an efficient system. Did you agree to his proposition?" The potion master requested of me.

"Y-e-s," I admitted reluctantly, stretching the small word to three times its normal size.

"Then what seems to be the problem?"

Malfoy stepped forward as my face blushed scarlet. I'd been foolish to assume that I could win this dispute; Draco may have known that he was unfair, but in a world where there are favorites and the hated, I would lose everything that involved Snape.

"There are no problems Professor. Hermione--using my first name earned him a pair of raised eyebrows from both Snape and myself--is simply unwilling to keep her end of the deal. She no longer wants to complete her potion."

Surprisingly, Snape did not yell, nor did he dock points from either of out houses. "Pack up your things. Neither of you will be completing the potion today." He simply stated, loud enough for all to hear.

There was an audible gasp that filled the room and echoed off of the walls at the hushed silence that followed in fear soon after.

Reconnecting both halves of my jaw and simultaneously turning away for Professor Snape's desk, I quickly saw that the entirety of the seventh year Gryffindor's and Slytherin's were staring at us, while failing to appear as though they were doing just the opposite. My face quickly and thoroughly accomplished the seemingly impossible task of changing to the colors of beet red and stark white at the same time. I hurriedly tucked my jaw to my throat and stalked to my desk.

I was meticulously placing my potions things back where they belonged when a worried voice interrupted my thoughts and paused my task. "What do you suppose he's planning to do?" I looked up to be confronted with something that, no matter how long I racked my brains for, I could never remember seeing; a Malfoy who appeared to be scared of his Head of House. Recovering, I attempted to cover my shock and present him with an intelligent answer.

"I have no idea." I tried to answer in a monotone, but I couldn't quite keep the intrigue out of my voice. "Possibly he wants to ask my advice on what he should do in the matter of asking you out, seeing as you claim straight and all," I added, sarcasm dripping in each syllable that poured from my mouth. To my great surprise, he laughed.

"I see we share the same suspicions."

I couldn't help it, I chuckled in return. I instantly regretted the action when he cocked an eyebrow--surely we weren't getting along? No. We were simply distracting each other from our fear of being Crucioed out of this dimension whenever our master next had the chance. I blushed heavily under his gaze when I realized that it still held mine, and I swiftly averted my eyes.

The bell rang a few seconds later and we, along with the other students, grabbed our schoolbags, pushed our chairs into the ancient oak tables, and made to leave the dank, black dungeon as fast as was humanly possible. However, a few inches from reaching my desired goal--the brightly-lit hallway, which was also filled with fresh air--the familiar voice of Professor Snape called me back to him.

"Miss Granger, I would like you to stay, please."

My eyes darted to Draco Malfoy's retreating form, praying that he would turn back and his eyes would meet mine with comforting sympathy. Instead I found his back, as cold, arrogant, and foreboding as it had always been.

With calculated grace and determination, mixed with fear as well as uncertainty, I turned to face him. Then I walked with carefully measured steps, towards the wizard who held my fate in the palms of his hands, until I was standing face to face with him, closer than I had ever imagined I would be to this man. I lifted my eyes until they locked with his. Rather than finding the usual cold, hateful black though his eyes were a glittering cobalt, filled with an unfamiliar emotion that I couldn't possibly hope to comprehend.

"Hermione," he said, taking a step closer.


End file.
